


Of All The Things

by sgtfarron



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Sad, and happy, because this is shoot, others are stand alone at this point, some will be connected via references that harken back, take fluff with a grain of salt, you'll never know - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 11,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtfarron/pseuds/sgtfarron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 100-500 (because I'm doing that thing I always do) word drabbles of whatever Root/Shaw scenarios happen to come to mind. Feel free to leave ideas or one word prompts in the comments as they may very well inspire me.</p><p>Ch.16 - 10/1<br/>Ch.17 - 10/1</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first venture into the realm of fic and creative writing in several years and since I've fallen head over heels for this pairing, I've decided that it is here I'd try my hand once more.
> 
> sgt-farron.tumblr.com

“…Ms. Groves.” Harold stood stock still, staring at the woman standing before him. Root, for her part, refused to look him in the eye. She was staring at the far wall just over his shoulder, blinking a few times in a futile attempt to keep the tears that gathered in her eyes and threatened to fall at bay. “… I –”

“No.” She cut him off, “I get it, Harold. Really,” nodding her head a few times, “What could they possibly want from her now that the machine is gone?” 

“Ms. Groves I shouldn’t have –”

“But you did, Harry.”


	2. Where did you go?

“Hey, Sameen.”

“Root,” Shaw sighed. “What do you want?”

“Just checking in,” Root sounded way too awake for Shaw’s liking and it did nothing to sooth her mounting irritation. “Can’t a couple of gals have a little chat every now and again?”

“Is that all?” Came Shaw’s reply, anger bubbling through. “Don’t you have anyone else you can call and have a ‘little chat’ with?”

“Who would you suggest, sweetie? John?”

“Root…”

“Harold?”

“ _Root._ ” Shaw snapped, her patience clearly having running out. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, “It’s three in the morning.” 

There was a pause on the end of the line. A few seconds passed before Root replied, quieter than before.

“Sorry, Sameen. Didn’t think of the time difference,” There was a pause this time a bit longer. “Goodnight, Sameen.”

After a beat Shaw spoke up, “Wait, Root…” she took a breath, willing the irritation to leave her voice, “…Just– come home soon.”


	3. Where did you go? (Pt.2 Skipp)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Skipp - Used not as a directive for you to skip the chapter, but to denote that time has skipped ahead.

“Fuck, Root…” Shaw muttered against Root’s neck, her hands gripping Root's hips.

“Sameen…” Root’s voice was a breathy whisper, a slight edge if you listened closely. She had bit back a hiss of pain when her back had collided with the wall. The pain was fading into a dull throb as Shaw continued to do that _thing_ with her teeth at her collar that makes it increasingly harder to think let alone pay any mind to Shaw's hands sliding up her waist, under her shirt, and to remember why that was not, in this moment, a good thing. But then Shaw stopped. Her hands stilled at her waist, mouth no longer on her neck, and Root quickly came back to her senses. Shaw was quiet for a long moment.

“Root?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Don’t you, ‘sweetie’ me. What the _hell_ Root?” Shaw stepped back and lifted Root’s shirt, exposing the bandage just below her ribs. Root just turned her head away, looking at the far wall.

“You’re mad, I get it –”

“Damn right I’m mad, –”

“Sameen, I’m fine. It was clean, no broken ribs – “

“You were _shot_ ,”

“Well, yeah, but –

“You’re moving fine so it is obviously not fresh. You were gone for a _month_ , Root, calling at all hours for ‘little chats’ and you didn’t think that maybe you’d want to mention that you’d taken a hit to center mass?”


	4. Ruby Red

“You’re bleeding,”

“Yeah, Root,”

“...I’m bleeding,” If Shaw had the energy, she’d roll her eyes.

“That’s what happens when you get shot,”

“...Huh,”

“Are you done?”

They lapsed into silence as Shaw moved to apply more pressure to Root’s worst wound. Root had also hit her head on the wall when she fell and had since been babbling nonsense; Shaw was inclined to believe she had a concussion on top of everything else.

“Hey,” Shaw tapped the side of Root’s face with her free hand, leaving a small smear of blood behind, “You weren’t actually supposed to listen to me,” ‘Of all the times…’ Shaw let out a small sigh, her own energy levels starting to sag considerably.

“Sorry, Sam…” Root’s eyes, slightly dazed, continued to stay locked on Shaw's face.

“Just– keep talking, okay...? Stay awake.” Shaw didn’t feel things like fear, but she couldn’t deny that she didn’t _like_ that Root was barely responding to the pressure on her wound – like she was hardly feeling the pain anymore (circling the drain).


	5. Ruby Red (Pt.2 Skipp)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

"Ms. Shaw," Harold fumbled for something to say, trying to keep his voice calm without letting the caution he felt shine through.

"Yes, _Harold?_ " Shaw sneered, not turning to look at him.

"Well – Ms. Shaw... Please, I must ask where it is you're going?" Harold fought every impulse he had not to step forward, feeling that doing so would be a grievous mistake.

"Out. To do some real work because I can't just _sit here_ anymore,"

"Yes, I understand, but you _need_ res-"

"It's been THREE. WEEKS." Shaw shouted, the side of her fist slamming into the near wall. Harold flinched. When she finally turned her gaze on him, the glare he received almost made him flinch again from its sheer intensity. Fury; unadulterated fury. A distinct change from the hard, blank, almost stony visage she had held since first waking at the safe house.

She watched as Harold's gaze shifted to her right momentarily, but she refused to follow, instead her eyes stayed locked on him. The still healing hole in her shoulder ached greatly, her leg sore, but she barely felt it; it paled in comparison to – 

"I implore you to _please_ be calm," He started, voice smaller than he intended. He weighed his next words before starting, "...This isn't what Ms. -"

"DON'T – I _am_ calm." Shaw's voice cut through the air, smothering whatever else he had meant to say, though he knew the attempt had been weak to begin with. There was truth to what she said as her voice had fallen back to a typical volume, but it was still hard, sharp. "I _am_ calm, I am calm, because – " She stopped, taking a sharp inhale, "I'm _leaving_."

Turning back towards the door, her hand made it as far as the door knob before she heard him speak again; so quiet she was sure he had not meant to say it aloud.

Hand shaking with the force of her grip, she turned to him and said,

"Sorry. You're... _Sorry?_ "

Harold for his part has the decency to look sheepish knowing now was not the time to let that slip out; not when things were so grave and sorry was just a word. Shaw advanced a few paces before she stopped and though there was still a good fifteen feet between them, he instinctively took a half step back. Unbalanced.

"For what, Finch? Getting so caught up in your professor Whistler routine you couldn't bother to be near your phone when your people were in the field? _Samaritan_ is _gone_." Shaw brought one hand up, pointing a single finger in his direction, voice rising, "Or, maybe, for not keeping better tabs on your 'guard dog' while he was busy playing _house_ with his _shrink_ , so that _maybe_ he could be bothered to help his team when," she raised her right arm to the side, pointing at a closed door on the other side of the safe house, " _she_ needed him, before she was closing her eyes and asking me with what could very well be her last words to _'please don't be mad, Sam,'_!?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold isn't really the bad guy. Shaw is just angry.


	6. Queen of Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that last one was sad so here is a peace offering.

It was seven a.m. and already Shaw could tell by the less-than-usual coolness in the subway base that it was going to be another blistering New York City summer day; wearing anything more than a tank top and she was likely to come down with heat stroke on the job which added to her already egregious mood.

‘Root…,’ Shaw was going to kill her this time, she was certain. Sure, she had laid it on a little thick with the last number she had to go in a ‘date’ with, but really, Root deserved it with how many times she had to be the ‘date’ and definitely _tried_ to press Shaw’s buttons. It just never occurred to Shaw that _this_ was how Root was going to retaliate. Shaw had beaten everyone to the subway this morning, not being able to stand to stay in her apartment any longer. Root, for her part, just smiled and told her she’d ‘see her later’.

Shaw registered the sound of expensive Italian shoes with an even gait start crossing the subway platform. _Reese_. When she heard him stop short, and with the usual greeting delayed, her urge to punch something mounted.

“Morning, Shaw,” Reese greeted, sounding _way_ too amused for seven in the morning.

“ _Don’t. Say. Anything,”_ Shaw threatened, turning to glare at him directly. Reese just held his hands up in front of himself slightly in surrender, but his eyes were filled with mirth, and he had the beginnings of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “ _Reese_.” Shaw ground out, voice more severe than before. After a few moments, he decided he just couldn’t help himself.

“Who new Root had an artistic side?” As far as Shaw was concerned she gave him ample warning and he _earned_ himself that purple jaw.

* * *

 

_Earlier that morning…_

_“ROOT!”_

_Root listened to her name being shouted from the direction of the bathroom. A smile instantly came to her face at the sound. Rising from the bed, she padded quietly to the other room._

_“Morning, Sameen,” Root greeted, slipping into the bathroom behind her girlfriend, sliding her arms around her waist. Shaw was too busy tilting her neck and glaring daggers her reflection in the mirror, fuming, to care immediately. It took a few moments for her to register Root’s presence. Once she did she spun around to face her, shrugging Root’s arms off and glaring more harshly than before._

_“Don’t you ‘morning’ me, Root, what the_ hell _did you to me?!” Shaw tilted her head to the side, pointing towards her neck. Root just took a step back and stooped a little to better admire her work. Right there on Shaw’s jugular, low enough to see clearly, but high enough that covering it would be obvious, was a heart-shaped hickey roughly the size of a fifty cent piece. The smile already present on Root’s face spread into a grin._

_“Wow, sweetie, it turned out better than I could have hoped,”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this was inspired by a queen of hearts card I found loose in my desk drawer.


	7. Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to give these titles after all.

Shaw pushed Root through the door of the hotel room, stumbling with a distinct lack of grace towards the bed, trying her hardest to keep their mouths together as her hands worked to push Root’s open button down off her shoulders, down her arms, and _out of the way_. There was the smallest thought in the back of her mind that her own shirt may not have made back to the room, and instead been left stranded in the hallway somewhere. It was impossible to tell; the whole walk back from the shitty hole-in-the-wall ‘tiki’ bar was a blur, too fast and too slow all the same. She brushed it off, it wasn’t important right now. There were more important things to focus on – like how Root’s hands managed to continue to move so deftly despite their obviously mutually drunken state.

By the time they both fell onto the bed in an uncoordinated heap Shaw was trying to puzzle out how she managed to lose every stitch of clothing, but some how Root was still in both her bra and jeans. It didn’t matter, now that they were horizontal Shaw could take the lead – since the world no longer left like it could just disappear from under her feet – just like she had _intended_.

Rolling onto Root, she straddled her hips, hands moving immediately to the button of her jeans. Now if only she could focus long enough to get her hands to work properly, but damn it, Root’s hands wouldn’t stop _moving_ ; alternating between feather light touch and biting nail along her sides, her back, and thighs, slowing her already foggy mind down to a snail’s pace. Plus, Root wouldn’t stop making these small, breathy moans, and – fuck – she was barely _touching_ her; so Shaw leaned in and kissed her, hard, trying to get her to just _shut up_ for a moment. And it worked – or so she thought – as she felt the button finally give under her finger tips.

The next thing Shaw knew her back was landing on mattress, eyes on the ceiling, as Root started leaving wet, open mouth kisses down her neck, making a slow decent that had her head spinning from something completely separate from the alcohol. The contrast of the cool moisture on her skin coming into contact with the air against her already over heated and over sensitive skin sent shivers racing down her spine, overthrowing whatever semblance of willpower to keep control she had left.

Whose idea was it drink tequila again..? Shaw kept asking herself. This was _not_ how she pictured the evening going. ‘Oh, yeah…Root…,’ something about a job well done…or something, but it wasn’t really, not when Shaw had almost been hit by a semi, but she had walked away without a scratch so…

Shaw bit her lip, almost hard enough to draw blood as she was brought back to the present by Root’s sharp bite, just inside her hip, causing a spike of heat between her legs stronger than before.

She brought both of her hands to Root’s hair. Mostly to get her to just _get on with it_ already, to stop the teasing, but a part – a small, but partially present part – of her mind that still had a foot in remembering the bar earlier wanted her to tug on Root’s hair, to make her _stop_ and look at her, and _say_ something; something about that look she had in her eye earlier. But Shaw has never known what to say. Even sober it would have been a conversation left unsaid, and tequila? Well, it’s always fueled her more carnal desires. (And part of her thinks that maybe Root knew that, too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Named for a song that is much more light hearted and fun than this, but I just couldn't get the phrase 'tequila makes her clothes fall off' out of my head. The similarities clearly end there.


	8. In the Quiet of the Night (Ruby Red (pt.3 forward))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got too long and I had to chop it in half. May post the other half later today or tomorrow if I don't write something to break it up.

Shaw stiffened. Root was doing it again, the staring. This was starting to get ridiculous; well, if she was being honest it had passed ridiculous and had moved into downright worrisome – even for someone like Shaw who didn’t have experience with this stuff – about a month ago. Not knowing what to do, she had just let Root continue, thinking she’d work through whatever it was and go back to normal eventually, but so far she stayed the same, if not a little worse.

Shaw waited, kept her eyes glued to the game on the T.V. that they (or at least Shaw) had been watching with the volume off for some time, knowing exactly what she’d see if she turned to right. She took a deep breath and gave in, and of course this night was just like every other time before; like they were stuck on the same script.

Root was looking right at her, eyes glossy with unshed tears. Said eyes wouldn’t stay stationary for long, flicking this way and that over Shaw’s face and along her body like she was trying her hardest to take in every detail and commit it to memory. While she didn’t care to be so heavily scrutinized, Shaw came to accept it because although she didn’t understand _why_ she was doing it, she understood _what_ was happening. No, what was so unsettling about Root in these moments was the small crease between Root’s brow, the one that screamed that she was trying to puzzle something out, to find the answer to some unspoken question that she was seemingly determined she could find if she stared at her long enough.

Shaw just couldn’t understand what that could possibly be about. She wanted to know what the question was, so that she could just try and _tell_ her whatever it is she wants to know, but she doesn’t trust herself to try; not after last time when she grossly underestimated the depth of whatever it is that’s going on and, in her typical Shaw-like fashion, unthinkingly ground out a sharp, “what the hell are you staring at?” and Root had flinched. Literally flinched – Root doesn’t _flinch_ ; her eyes widen in surprise, maybe, but she never let any surprise or feeling manifest physically like _that_. Shaw hadn’t said anything about it since.

And all at once Shaw watched as Root’s eyes quit moving, honing in on her lips and staying there. Shaw swallowed, knowing what happened next, able to count down in her head – three, two, one…

Root was on her all at once, lips colliding with hers, hands at her shoulders applying enough pressure to ease Shaw back on the couch and she complied, until she was laying fully back, Root leaning over her. Her mind was starting to lose focus, but something wasn’t right about this, and it had gone on long enough.

“Wait, Root –” Shaw broke the kiss, hand on Roots sternum trying to ease her back a bit and create some distance between them. Root just held her gaze, confused, seemingly waiting for her to continue. In truth she didn’t know what she as going to say, had no plan, but at least it hadn’t come out aggravated, so it was a good start. “Uh, I…,”

Root still didn't say anything. Root _always_ had something to say, that was her thing, her way of maintaining control of situations. This uncharacteristic silence despite Shaw going off script was very telling. She took a deep breath, eyes closing briefly as she gathered her thoughts.

“…What the hell is going on?” Her voice was quiet, gentler than she thought herself capable.


	9. In the Quiet of the Night (Ruby Red (pt.4))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second half. My best friend made me post.

“…Is this real?” It had come out so quiet Shaw wasn’t sure she had actually heard it. Root moved away from Shaw, sitting up fully on the couch. She was no longer looking at her, as she started to almost ramble softly, quietly, like the flood gates on her thoughts had finally opened, pouring out, “…because I can’t figure it out, it feels like this could all just disappear without a moment’s notice, and I really felt dead at that warehouse, Sameen, like _really_ dead, but I woke up, eventually…but maybe I didn’t, maybe I died that day and this is my own personal hell… –”

Shaw almost balked at that, _almost_. Despite her attempts to stay impartial she couldn’t help the anger that started to well up at that; things had been going good, _great_ , better than she thought their ‘someday’ could ever be – or so she thought – but Root thought this was hell? She was _trying_.

“…because I can’t imagine a more perfectly design hell than to get more than I ever could have hoped for, but to live every day with a nagging uncertainty that renders each moment suspended, not fully lived –”

Shaw closed her eyes, anger dispersing, but quickly being replaced by a sort of impatience. She had to withhold the impulse to just sit up and grab Root’s shoulders, to shake her and remind her not too kindly, that _she didn’t even believe in that stuff_ , because for all of Root’s talk of the Machine as a sort of ‘god’, she didn’t _actually_ believe in any sort of metaphysical reality, least of all a Judeo-Christian one. But now was not the time for that, she scolded herself, this required kid gloves, honest, but not harsh; so she said the first honest thing that came to mind.

“Okay,” Shaw started, interrupting Root’s rambling, “but then where is the guy with the pitched fork, because I have to thank him personally for the great accommodations,”

“Shaw –” Oh, okay, not good; wrong answer. Shaw couldn’t remember the last time Root had called her ‘Shaw’ when they were alone. Quickly sitting up, she placed a hand on the side of Root’s face, gentle (she seemed to be doing that more and more these days).

“Hey – Hey…I’m sorry, Root,” Applying some pressure, Shaw tried to coax Root to turn her head and face her more fully. “I was just trying to be honest. I’m not…I’m not good at this…but I need you to listen to me, okay?” When Root nodded slightly, she leaned in and rested her forehead against hers, closing her eyes. She had to _try_. Shaw took a deep breath before starting again, trying to match the level of quiet that Root had used, “Four months ago we were ambushed in that warehouse, and you were shot, badly, and so was I, but you hit your head really hard. You almost died, _almost_ ; you _didn’t_ though, Reese and Fusco got to us in time. They did. You fell into a coma for a while, but you woke up, okay? You _woke up_ , Root _._ ” Shaw paused. Root wasn’t making a sound, but Shaw could feel the moisture on her thumb where it still rested on her cheek. “…I don’t know what I can say to convince you, but it’s true. This is real, _I’m_ real, and I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

 


	10. New Year (New You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had multiple versions of this 'New Year' idea and I ended up going with the only sad one, oops.

"Happy New Year, Root."

Root paused, glass of whiskey at her mouth. With the chaos that Samaritan had been wrecking, it had become increasingly difficult for Root to keep track of the date these days, let alone pay any attention to the hour of the day; apparently Shaw didn't have that same problem.

Root couldn't help the small smile that threatened to break free and quickly hid it behind her glass, not wanting to ruin the moment. She continued to stare out the safe house window at the blizzard that has managed to bring most of New York to a grinding halt and left the two of them stranded for the night.

"...Hey,"

Root looked at Shaw out of the corner of her eye, brow raised in question. The next thing she knew Shaw's hand was gripping her arm, turning her so they were facing one another. Shaw just stared at her at her, looking like she was trying to make up her mind about something. After a moment she stepped into Root's space, leaned up, and kissed her, short, but with an uncharacteristic softness. 

Root's eyes were wide, surprised, but soon the smile that she had tried to hide before came back unrestrained. At seeing this, Shaw seemed to realize what, exactly, she had just done and her face quickly morphed back into one of annoyance before she turned back to the window.

" _What?_ It's what people  _do_ on New Year's, Root," Shaw's voice was gruff, but the annoyance sounded more forced than genuine, " _Don't_ read into it."

Root's smile never left her face, but she too turned back to the window, sipping slowly on the drink Shaw had poured her earlier.

Though she would never dare voice it, she couldn't help that part of her wanted to remind Shaw that it wasn't usually just 'people' that kiss on New Year's, but couples. Root considered it a step in the right direction when she moved a half step closer so that her arm leaned against Shaw's slightly, and Shaw didn't move away.

* * *

 

_Three Months Later_

The restaurant had changed names once again since the the last time Shaw had been there. Root slid into the stool at the end of the bar, looked over her right shoulder at the view, and couldn't help but agree that it was one of the best the city had to offer. Turning back to the bar, she waved down the bartender.

"What can I get you, miss?"

"Two whiskeys, neat; the most expensive you've got. "

"I'll have those for you momentarily."

If the bartender thought anything odd of her order, he didn't show it. When he returned he placed both drinks in front of her she thanked him with a small, polite (if forced), smile. Once he walked down the bar to tend to another customer, Root slid one of the drinks over so it sat in front of the empty seat to her left. 

She continued to stare at the drink in her hand for what could have been just a minute, or five, before she threw it back, downing it in a single gulp. As she set the glass back on the bar her eyes were clenched shut and she shuddered at the bitterness and the burning; whiskey was harsh, and she had never been a fan. After the worst had past she stared down at the now empty glass and spoke aloud to no one,

"Happy New Year, Sameen..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who was confused, Persian New Year is in March, three months after the standard Gregorian calendar New Year in January. Second bit is post if-then-else.


	11. I Like It When It's Been a While

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Aviation High by Semi Precious Weapons.

Root knew she was in trouble, had known it for a while. This _thing_  with Shaw was... It was fun, to say the least, and for all appearances casual. She flittered in and out of Shaw's life almost seamlessly (almost because even if on the surface everything seemed fine, she couldn't help but feel like she was leaving little but more of herself behind every time).

A knock on Shaw's door, a carefully crafted smirk that left no room for miscommunication of her intentions, and she was in - for a fun night, or two if she was there to help the team and got to spend more than a day in the city (something that seemed to be happening more, for more days at a time, which only added to the mounting trouble because it was harder to feel like this thing with Shaw was  _casual_ when in their daily lives they were quickly moving from sometimes-associates to coworkers).

Root knew all this, and yet she couldn't bring herself to slow it down, let alone stop it. That fact alone proved just how deep she was, how much trouble was on the horizon (they were like a speeding locomotive with brake failure; it was only a matter of time before the track they were on would bend and with the train moving too fast, the whole thing would derail, crash, and burn). 

The problem didn't lie solely in Root and her growing attachment to Shaw in general, but also in Shaw herself. Because sometimes she would say things or do things (mostly does things, Shaw doesn't say much in general) that she should ( _shouldn't_ if Shaw wants to keep this thing  _casual_ ), and it throws Root off, makes her think, for a moment, that maybe Shaw is getting a little stuck in this thing, too. 

It is small things, things that despite their subtle appearance into what is slowly becoming their routine, mean a lot. Like Shaw throwing out there that she wants to grab a bite to eat after a number, the invitation for Root to join her if she doesn't have to leave right away left unspoken between them.

It's in the way that Root has left laptops, jackets, and other miscellaneous items at Shaw's after having to the abruptly leave the city only to return weeks later to find that rather than Shaw having thrown them out for having cluttered her apartment and space like she had expected, they are right there waiting for her to collect them.

Or in how, when Shaw has to patch her up, instead of getting a silent (if not annoyed), meticulous, but not particularly gentle Shaw like she had in the beginning, when they are alone she gets an obviously irritated (but surprisingly gentle) Shaw that chastises her under her breath about how much of an idiot she is for having gotten shot, or nearly blown up, ("what's the point of having an AI in your ear if it doesn't do shit to keep you alive?", " computers aren't backup, you need backup," or, "you're bleeding all over my floor, again; when the hell are you going to get it through your thick head that  _you're not bullet proof,_ ").

The time away is getting harder as she find herself wanting to be back in the city almost as soon as she leaves.

It's better, she thinks, when they spend more time apart, because it makes it easier to pretend this thing wasn't becoming what it was - to try to postpone the inevitable fallout.

At least that's what Root tells herself, lying in Shaw's bed and listening to the machine's predawn wakeup as it rattles off details about the flight she has to catch to Spokane within the hour. If she's lucky she will catch a little sleep on the plane, her tiredness and the delicious ache in her body not entirely unpleasant reminders of her long night with Shaw.

Slipping silently from the bed, she tries not to look at Shaw's sleeping form as she moves around in the dark, attempting to collect her things with only the light of the street lamp coming through the blinds to guide her. 

Root leaves Shaw's apartment without a single look back. If she happened to take one of Shaw's shirts from her dresser when her efforts to find her own in the dark were coming up fruitless, well maybe she wasn't doing as well to postpone the inevitable as she liked to believe.


	12. I Like It When It's Been a While (pt.2 Skipp)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is for sure another part to this coming up.

“That’s my shirt,”

Shaw looked at Root cloaked in shadow, leaning against her door frame. She hadn’t had any lights on in her apartment as she moved to answer the door and upon opening it found that the light in the hallway had burnt out, again. Despite the darkness Shaw was able to tell it was her shirt Root was wearing under her half zipped jacket because it was one of her favorites and had just so happened to be missing since Root had last been in her apartment.

“Astute as ever,”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been wearing it for two weeks straight?” Shaw asked with a slight tinge of anger and disbelief in her tone. Root couldn’t help the slight eye roll that came at the question, along with a small shake of her head.

“No, of course not,” A slight sigh in exasperation escaped her lips. Root did her best to keep the small smile on her face in spite of the increasingly shaking feeling in her legs and the building dizziness in her head. “But I didn’t just want to throw away something I took without asking, so I hung onto it.”

When Root paused, Shaw couldn’t help but huff in annoyance. For as much as she felt a slight tug of appreciation towards Root for not just throwing her stuff in a dumpster when it was inconvenient to travel with when it wasn’t on her person, she was still mostly annoyed that she had taken it in the first place. They had _lines_ drawn between them, but somehow whenever Shaw looked away, they seemed to move and it was getting more difficult to see the lines at all, and this was just another instance of them moving.

She was about to ground out some comment about how this was _not_ okay, that Root couldn’t just wear her clothes like that, because they weren’t _dating_ , that she didn’t _date_ anyone, when Root started again.

“I was going to get it back to you all fresh and clean, but I ran into a little trouble when I got back into the city today,” That’s when Shaw notices it, the slight waver in Root’s voice; Suddenly the way she was leaning against the door frame looked a lot less causal and much more _necessary_. What Shaw didn’t know was that Root was banking on Shaw letting her in _soon_ so she could sit before her legs gave out beneath her. Shaw quickly flicked on the light switch, the small hallway now a washed with light.

“Root?!” Shaw had quickly scanned Root’s form, noting the cuts on her cheek and at her temple that were bleeding freely, down to the blood that was dripping from her right hand to the floor where it joined the small pool that had started where blood was dripping from the end of her jacket.

“Yes, Sam..?” Root sounded like she was barely present in the conversation anymore. She looked down at the floor, “Oh, yeah…so I may have been…very rudely thrown through a shop window when I was wrapping up my errands this evening.”

Shaw stared slightly slacked jawed; she had never met someone who had such a flare for grossly understating the severity of a situation, who was so blasé about their own injuries; their _life_. Shaw had hardly a moment to react as suddenly Root’s legs buckled and she started to fall, Shaw reaching out to wrap an arm around her waist before she slid to the floor.


	13. I Like It When It's Been a While (pt.3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is longer than the rest and with a slightly different format. Just wanted to give the moment the amount of attention it deserved. Let me know if the format was confusing to follow or what have you :)

Shaw continued to glare at the body that was currently passed out on her couch. Root had been out for... Two hours, so far, and Shaw sat vigilant on her coffee table, as if she glared hard enough, long enough, then maybe her anger would sink in and when Root came to she would understand that this was not okay; that she couldn't keep doing this; showing up at her apartment dressed in various shades of almost-dead. What if she hadn't been home? What would she have done, break in, make a mess and let herself bleed out all over her floor? 

* * *

 

When Root started to come to, it was to a burning ache all along her right side, the worse headache she could remember ever having, and when she opened her eyes it was to the sight of Shaw's ceiling lit up with the first light of dawn.

"You're a fucking idiot."

Root tried her hardest to suppress the shall groan that threatened to pass her lips as her head continued to pound. She wanted to turn her head to look at Shaw, but the right side of her head hurt worse than the rest so she settled on looking at her out of the corner of her eye. Shaw was perched on her coffee table, forearms resting on her knees and glaring with a noted growing sneer on her lips like she was just  _waiting_ to rip Root a new one, bit she didn't, she just kept sitting there.

Root had seen Shaw irritated, just plain annoyed, and all shades of angry before (anger came so easy to her), but this seemed different. Like this anger was coming from a different place than Root had ever witnessed before. It was too hard to think on it too much though, with her head aching so acutely; so she waited. Shaw was bound to say something more eventually, if not do something like get up and leave, or go to bed or  _something_.

* * *

 

Looking over at the clock above her stove, Shaw noted that it had been four hours since Root had showed up at her place, making a mess and expecting Shaw's apartment to be her own personal ER. Shaw should have known as soon as she opened that door that something was up. She should have heard the waver in Root's voice, but she was to caught up in the shirt to care; should've realized that no sane person would have been wearing a jacket when it was so hot outside that even with the windows open Shaw was having a hard time getting to sleep; most of all she should have smelled the  _blood_ (sooner, because she did smell it, after the lights came on and it finally registered. She couldn't get the damn smell out of her senses since, even after ask the antiseptic she had had to use).

As someone with an AB+ blood type, Shaw was a universal receiver, but she had already decided they were never going to talk about the fact that the only type she ever kept on hand anymore was O-, the only kind that  _Root_ , with an O- blood type, could receive.

* * *

 

That was it. Root couldn't take the silence and the glowering coming from Shaw for another minute; she felt smothered and she had to  _leave_. At least she wanted to leave, but the moment she made to start sitting up, her stomach flared painfully so she looked down and saw the long bandage, just now recalling that particularly nasty laceration.

"You need to stop –" Shaw grounded out harshly, but seemingly cutting herself off before she could specify. (It didn't even fucking matter if there were quiet voices, quiet  _feelings_ , deep in her somewhere like Gen had said if they were down out by the roaring fire of her anger – or worse, if they were fueling it – because she'd never be able to hear them anyway).

Root huffed, not really seeming to listen

"What I  _need_ is to go," she said as she made to sit up again, this time slower (much slower).

" _Really_?"

Why couldn't Root just realized that she needed to stop what she was doing, to change it because she was being so  _stupid_ ; that this whole thing was stupid, and if she didn't stop she was going to end up bleeding out in some other city or county because Shaw wasn't going to be there to just  _fix_ everything (and that was not okay)? Shaw couldn't identify why this effecting her so much, why  _now_ and not every other time Root had shown up a mess at her front door; all she knew is that her fury was an inferno and in this moment felt righteous, because Root dead would screw over  _everyone_ , the whole team, and not just Root herself (Root's level of skill and ability to walk the line between stability and just plain crazy wasn't exactly common place and able to be replaced easily).

Root just managed to get both feet on the ground, still sitting, but seemed to be shaking slightly from the small exertion. Shaw just need Root to  _understand_.

 "I need you to stop. _Now._ "

* * *

 

Shaw had quickly found what had become of Root's own shirt when she started to try and remove Root's clothes to get to the bleeding. She found that it had been stuffed up under her own as a short of makeshift pressure bandage to try to keep the nasty cut along her stomach from bleeding too much (it didn't work very well, obviously, as when Shaw removed it she could hardly tell that it had once been a  _white_ shirt; that and the small puddle of blood at her door kind of spoke for themselves).

It was pretty rough, a little jagged like the glass had caught on her skin; even with her skill with a needle Shaw was sure that after all the jostling of the wound before she'd got her hands on it, it was likely to leave at least a faint scar from Root's waist down in a slight diagonal to more than halfway across her abdomen.

 _Root_ knew how much trouble she has been in this time, the use of her own shirt as a bandage to try to extend the amount of time she had to get to Shaw proved it; she just  _acted_ like she didn't just skirt death  _again_ (or maybe she just didn't know how to express it, Shaw was intimately familiar with that struggle, but it never really occurred to her too much, until now, that others might be terrible at expressing their thoughts and feelings on some things, even when they  _had_ them).

* * *

 

Shaw caught Root's eyes for all of a few moments before she had to look away; she hadn't meant to say "I", it just slipped out, and now she was left hoping Root would know not to ask what, exactly, she meant by that because she really didn't have an answer or at least she didn't have  _words_ to explain. It must have worked though because Root didn't try to get up or protest again.

"...Okay," Root's voice was quiet as she tried to sit back and ease into the couch slowly. Maybe Shaw had said something  _right_ for the first time in her life; it wasn't enough, and eventually this thing wasn't gonna work, she knew, but it was something.

Nodding her head slightly and still not looking Root in the eye, Shaw got up to fetch Root some painkillers and a glass of water. Things had shifted between them, and Shaw tried to swallow the lump that started to grow in her throat at knowing that it had been her fault, that she was not doing as good a job at stopping this train wreck as she should be. 


	14. A Hard Day's Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk about this one. Just a thing about Root around early season 4 prior to if-then-else when she was on a merry go round of identities. I've been stuck in a bit of a writers block since I started this new job so I wanted to write SOMETHING, you know? Might delete it tomorrow of I end up re reading it and hating it. Let me know if you think it's weird or too far off or whatever.

Running from Samaritan was getting harder everyday it seemed; each step running seemed heavier, her speed slower when she needed to be getting fast, fast, _faster_ if she wanted any chance to live to see the other side if this conflict – whatever the final outcome. Even wanting to make it that far was getting harder when the reprieve between going, going, _moving_ (always moving) was getting shorter (she was just so tired).

Root was currently sitting (well half laying, leaning against the wall) in the back of an inconspicuous white panel van in a camera dead zone in the heart of Queens. Luckily for her the business that used this particular van had decided not to replace their security cameras after they failed last month, leaving Root with a place to tuck in, rest and try to catch her breath away from the prying eyes of Samaritan as the machine tried to scramble together her next identity and a means of communicating it to her.

It was hard to stop, even when her body screamed for her to do so; all it did was amplify the silence. The only thing she could hear in the back of van was her own heavy breathing as she tried to get it under control, for her heart to slow to a safer rate. She longed for the machine to be able to speak to her again, for _something_ , a distraction because when all she had was silence from Her all she had were her thoughts, and even she could recognize how dangerous that was.

She may have grown to care about a very short list of people (it was comprised of approximately two people) and she would do everything in her power to protect them, but her genuine care for people ended there. Protecting everyone? That was Her vision, Her will. Root worked to Her end as Her interface, but without Her _here_ , reminding her, telling her to keep going, what to do – it was increasingly harder to do just that. She found that her own feelings slipping into the mix, muddling her will to fight for _them all_ , when the outcome seemed so bleak.  

Her short list and she were careening toward early graves as it were, while Samaritan amassed an army. Hell, her number could be up tonight and she could very well not know it until the moment the back of the panel van's doors opened and there was a gun in her face. It had been difficult, but she was pretty sure that she had gained enough ground that she should be okay, for now, but there was no way to know for sure. Not when she had to move in the shadows and the machine couldn’t see anything helpful to tell her until it was possibly too late anyways.

All she wanted to do, really, was to close her eyes and just let the world fade away for a while. Her body ached, most acutely around her ribs where her side had hit the arm rest of the vehicle she was driving when she was t-boned at an intersection. She was almost certain nothing was cracked, just bruised and accounted for the extra pain by reasoning that the running and the resulting harsh breathing had just amplified the pain.

Thankfully the Samaritan agents that had rammed her truck had seemingly over shot the maneuver and had mostly either knocked themselves out or otherwise dazed themselves (only one had managed to get out and start firing on her after she managed to get out and start running), creating space between her and them that likely allowed for her escape. How this identity had been blown she does not now, but if it hadn’t been for the incompetence of those agents, she likely wouldn’t have made it out there.

There hadn’t been a single word or beep from the machine – it had been too quick and sudden for her to see coming. That realization frightened Root. She knew that Her abilities to see the largest, most detailed set of likely outcomes for her agents had been severely handicapped by them having to move in camera dead zones, limiting the amount of data she had to work with, but to come so close and to only have made it out because there wasn’t someone like Martine with that particular team put it in a new perspective.

Suddenly Root heard a set of soft beeping in her hear and startles, not realizing that at some point she _had_ let her eyes fall shut. It only played twice, but Root was certain of what the Morse code said: go. She moved to the doors of the panel van, moving stiffly but trying to make haste. There was no timetable for her to get going, but if the machine told her to move it may be that her life depended on moving fast _now._

Stepping out on the street she tried to close the van door as quietly as she could, she only paused a moment, hoping that there would at least be some indication of a general direction she needed to head, but expecting none. After she heard nothing she started moving away from the direction she came with faith that if the machine was telling her to move now that, at the very least, She had managed to create the loose outlines of a plan to get her to safety and would direct her when absolutely necessary.

She may not have any faith in humanity, and her faith that ultimately they will manage something resembling a ‘win’ in this war may be wavering, but her faith in Her and what she was trying to do for them still burned strong.


	15. Fast and Loose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk what I'm doing (and neither does Root).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be helpful to imagine: they managed to get Shaw back from Samaratin, but her and Root have yet to bring up or //talk// about the kiss, etc.

“What the hell was that? Root,” Shaw grabbed Root’s left elbow, forcing her to stop and turn to her. There was a small smile on her face, but her eyes were hard, cold, looking down her nose at Shaw like she wasn’t really seeing her but looking through her, her mind possibly miles from the present. Root made to pull her arm out of Shaw’s grasp, so Shaw gripped harder. Root’s eyes hardened, but Shaw refused to look away, doubling down on her own glare.

“I may have been out of the game for a while, but even without an AI whispering in my ear I could tell from a mile away that that situation was completely avoidable,” At mention of the Machine Root seemed to flinch slightly, it was subtle, but Shaw caught it. Huh. Shaw loosened her grip and Root immediately snatched her arm back and took a few steps away but stopped half turned to leave.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I watched, you went in guns blazing like you didn’t even have a plan –”

“You weren’t supposed to BE HERE!” Root wheeled around, raising her voice and taking a step back towards Shaw. That made Shaw pause for a moment; incredulous.

“Oh. Okay, so the only thing you see wrong with this situation,” Shaw waved her hand, voice hardening, “of you playing fast and loose with your life like that was that I was here to witness it? Because I “wasn’t supposed to be here”?! Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean,”

“Yeah, you weren’t supposed to be here, you were supposed to be with Harold –”

“You should be thankful I was here to save your ass! You went over the side of a ten story building after almost being filled with more holes than Swiss cheese,” Shaw was seething, “And don’t give me any bullshit about the Machine was going to help, that "She had a plan", because a computer wasn’t going to be able to pull you back onto that roof,” There it was again, that flinch.

“…Fuck you, Shaw,” Her voice as more resigned than angry. Shaw just stared at Root, already trying to shrug off the rising uneasiness at the realization she had made and though she was sure she knew the answer, she deigned to ask anyway, though it was unlike her.

“…Did you have a plan?”

“Things changed, Shaw, we adapted to different methods –”

Yeah. Reckless, idiotic methods.

“And the Machine? Did it suddenly quit “caring” about its agents and start walking you into the metaphorical equivalent of oncoming traffic?” That got Root to shut up. After a prolonged silence she finally replied.

“I wouldn’t know. Her and I haven’t exactly been on speaking terms; so when she speaks I’m not exactly used to listening.” There was a flash of pain in her eyes, but she did well to hide it behind the frank manner by which she was speaking.

Shaw huffed, rolled her eyes, and reached into the back of her pants pulling out a gun and holding it out for Root, “Yeah, well, do better,” After Root took the gun, she stared at it, realizing it’s the one she dropped on the roof and that it now had a full magazine. Shaw stuffed her hands in the pockets of her trench coat not looking at Root, “You don’t get to just throw your life away like it doesn’t mean anything anymore,” she then turned and walked away from Root down the alleyway. 


	16. Fast and Loose (pt.2 rewind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very unedited prequel to the last chapter. I'll probably end up rewriting this one.

Root was a fucking idiot; a zealous, at times rash, incorrigible, but brilliantly idiotic woman. At least that’s what Shaw thought, because how else would categorize a woman like Root, who refused to change course or thought in the face of new information; in the face of facts? It is sheer stupidity, in Shaw’s mind, when someone refused to adapt to new information, because that’s what you do to _survive_. And boy was Root reckless, the events Shaw was currently a part of spoke for itself.

Shaw sat crouched behind a counter, reloading her gun before twisting around and firing a few rounds off at the men across the room. She was doing everything she could to keep their attention on _her_ and not on following Root, who she had just caught the tail end of zig zagging across the floor and entering a stairwell on the far side of the room.

Something was off about this whole thing. Root left _way_ too many of these goons standing. While not all of her shots were bound to hit their mark, the number standing versus those not down were abnormally skewed. Shaw had witnessed Root down half a dozen armed men, all by kneecapping, through a glass and steel door, _in the dark_ , before they could fire a single round with the Machine as a guide. The fact that at least more than half of them weren’t downed by Root herself meant that either the Machine wasn’t helping, or was doing a _really_ shitty job at it.

(Shaw found herself almost hoping for the latter, that the Machine was just performing poorly, because then she wouldn’t have to deal with the uncomfortable idea that Root was just running around so recklessly towards gunfire, like her life was nothing, when she was running these solo missions these days; truly without backup).

After the last guy was down Shaw raced across the room, entering the stairwell she’d seen Root enter before her. Unfortunately Root had gotten a sizeable lead on her, all Shaw could do was hope that she hadn’t run into more trouble wherever it is she ran off to.

By the seventh floor Shaw’s legs were burning uncomfortably, more so than they would have ever in the past, and starting to get numb. She never would admit it out loud, but she knew she wasn’t back to being as fit as she had been pre-capture; her health was fine, mostly, but stuff like this was a unwelcomed reminder of the ordeal her body went through at Samaritan’s hands.

By the eighth floor there was still no sign of Root having exited the stairwell at any of the floors. That's when Shaw heard shots being fired from somewhere above her – likely the roof given the muffled nature of the noise.

“Damn it, Root.” Shaw muttered under her breath, willing her legs to try and make it up those last few flights faster.

When Shaw pushed through the door onto the roof, it was to the sight of Root near the edge deflecting a punch from a man almost twice her size, but instead of properly and fully sidestepping his path, she half-assed it and picked something from his pocket. Shaw could do nothing but stare as the man in question went over the side of the roof, shoulder colliding with Root’s and causing her to fall sideways, her left leg hitting the ledge, as her body went over, leaving her arms scrambling to hold over ledge (but Shaw knew her right arm was still in rough shape from her trip to Guadalajara a few weeks earlier).

No, no, no. No. After everything they'd been through, Root wasn't going to die in some run-of-the-mill work related accident by tumbling off a roof on a routine mission. Shaw dashed across the roof as Root’s arms slipped and she was left dangling from one hand as her right gave out, its grip strength still poor.

* * *

 

Root was pretty certain this was it; there was no way she’d be able to pull herself up, especially not in the condition she was in. It was a real testament to her state of mind as of late that, at the sight of Sameen Shaw above her reaching over the ledge and grabbing her arm and grumbling obscenities at her, the first thing she felt was anger. It was pretty fucked that if anyone was to show up, she would have almost preferred anyone, John, Lionel, Harold (for as little as he would have been able to have done), even a shade before Shaw would have been one of the several men she left standing downstairs coming to finish the job. (Root was sure she felt gratitude in her somewhere, it was just buried under the mantra of “Shaw’s not supposed to be here” that kept looping in her mind).

“Root, give me your other hand, damn it,” Root tried to get her right hand over her head and into Shaw’s, biting down on her lip when she felt her pull, shoulder flaring in an almost blinding pain.

Once Shaw had managed to get Root onto the ledge, she was bent over, hands on her knees while she caught her breath, glaring at Root’s right arm (or maybe she was just scrutinizing it very intensely, it was hard to tell with her sometimes).

“Hope whatever the hell you just slipped from his pocket was worth it.”

“It was necessary.” Root bit back, short, dismissive. The gratitude was in her, somewhere, she just couldn’t get it out. They let silence fall between them.


	17. Fast and Loose (pt.3 Forward)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here's the conclusion to the Fast and Loose segement :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So make no mistake this is a second update in one day. Just got a case of the writing fever and write anothe 2000 words. Normally I'd split it up, but this really goes together. Hope you all enjoy.

“So this is where you’ve been holed up, figured with the Machine footing the bill you’d've opted for a nicer place,” Shaw looked around the apartment she’d just let herself into, noting the only light in the place was coming in from the windows, the last light of the setting sun fighting to keep the living room lit. “Of all the places I thought I’d track you down, for some reason Vancouver wasn’t on the list.”

“Well, it’s not by choice. If I had things my way you likely would have caught up to me in Tokyo,” Her voice was saccharine. Faux sweet. Root lifted the laptop on her lap with her left hand and set it on the coffee table, moving stiffly. When Shaw declined to comment, Root asked, “What do you want, Shaw?”

Shaw just stood in the living room for a few moments longer before moving toward the tiny kitchenette and dropping her duffle bag on the small table.

“What are you doing?” Root made to stand up, but was told off before she could.

“Stop. Just – stay there, okay?” Shaw spoke over her shoulder, then proceeded to take some things that Root could not see out of her duffle. When Shaw turned around and moved back into the living room, she had a sling and a full med kit in her hands. Setting both on the coffee table, she removed her coat and threw on the couch next to Root before sitting on the coffee across from her.

Root just watched all of this silently. She was baffled, not able to get passed the fact that Shaw was here, seemingly just to… to play doctor? To check up on her? Shaw was supposed to be in New York, trying to be reintegrated into working numbers while not overdoing it. While none of them really _talked_ about it, they were all aware that Shaw wasn’t back at 100%. And while at times Root longed for someone to take on as backup (that someone specifically only trusted to ever be Shaw) on relevant tasks, especially with the (self-created) load she has had since Samaritan’s fall, that was the very reason she _couldn’t_ ; she couldn’t risk Shaw, not again. Which is why Shaw was supposed to be in New York, to _stay_ in New York, yet here she was. Not only across the length of the country, but across the border, while she was in the middle of a dealing with a relevant threat.  

“Take off your sweater,”

“Wait, what?” She had shook her head trying to clear her mind to focus on the present.

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“You heard me. I need to see your shoulder,”

Root made to remove the overly large hoodie with mostly her left arm, but struggled to get her arm out of the sleeve without jostling her injured shoulder. Shaw huffed.

“Here,” She reached out and grabbed the sleeve so Root could slide her arm out, before slowly lifting it so her head came out next, followed by slowly lowering down her right arm. After it was off, she tossed it onto her coat. Shaw wasn’t surprised that all Root had on underneath that sweater had been a bra, but she caught herself staring momentarily anyways before tearing her eyes away to look at her shoulder. She was trying to be professional about this, damn it.

It brought up a good question though, about why she was here. It had been four days of Root not making an appearance at the subway after the incident on the roof, nor making contact with anyone, including Harold, before Shaw had taken it on herself to track her down.

Root had been making it a regular thing that if she was in the city working on something, that she would make at least one appearance at their base or otherwise makes vague contact of a mission accomplished before jet-setting off to god knows where. It had taken two days for Harold to confront her building restless energy and less than eager attitude towards getting out of the subway before he promised to let her know the moment he heard anything from Root. She didn’t deign to answer that and instead walked into the gun locker and took inventory of their supply. Harold wasn’t a stupid man, he had figured that something happened the day she had ditched him and his reconnaissance mission (to go find Root) but he also wasn’t brave enough to ask – which was all the better for her as the last thing she would ever want to do is to talk about it (she didn't even want to think about it).

Had Shaw been aware that Root was just going to ditch town after their run in, she would have insisted that she looked at her shoulder then. Told her it needed to be in a sling before she does irreparable damage. 

She has tried telling herself this is just about that, about keeping Root from ending up with a debilitating shoulder injury that sets her back four or five steps in skill permanently, and not about the nagging pit in her stomach that only starts to lessen when she sees Root and knows that she’s alive and still, generally speaking, _okay_. No, she didn’t want this to be a personal call.

But it was.

The air in the room weighed the it down and there is no way that Root would buy any excuse she’d say anyway. Not after how aloof they’ve been toward each other and then _this_.

Looking closer at her shoulder, Shaw asked, “What did you mean by, ‘if I had my way you’d caught up with me in Tokyo?’ Why didn’t I?” Best to keep Root talking, her mind distracted from Shaw's poking and proding. Shaw brought one hand up and gently touched at the end of Root’s collar bone, which was seemingly protruding more than a healthy amount, and tried to ignore the goosebumps appearing on Root’s skin by telling herself they were from the cold.

“She’s keeping me here,”

Shaw raised an eyebrow, “Keeping you here?”

“Any flight I try and book ends up delayed and/or flat out canceled. The only flight that I could successfully make was a straight flight to JFK, and that stopped two days ago,” The ‘She must have known you were on the way here’ was left unsaid. Shaw didn't comment that two days ago was when her anger had boiled over and she had spent some time threatening a CCTV camera in broad daylight.

Root continued to watch Shaw work. She really didn’t know what to do with this side of her. It begged to imply something she hadn’t dared to let herself think on: that the kiss in the elevator had been anything but _just_ a clever way to make sure she had been too distracted to stop her from running out of the elevator; that there was something else there too – even if Shaw wouldn’t know what to make of it.

Shaw had only tried to track her down twice before. Once as civil enough associates after her oh so pleasant bonding session with Control, but at that time Shaw hadn’t cared enough to follow and dropped the trail after it left the city. The other time had been before that, when Shaw was bent on revenge and trailed her up and down the eastern seaboard. This was neither of those things: Shaw had followed her out of the country with an intent to help her, and while she had received plenty of medical assistance from Shaw in the past this was different – Root always had sought her out when she was in dire straits and Shaw chose to help. Yet here she was.

“What are you doing here, Sameen?” And just like that an air of seriousness had fell like a blanket on the room. At this point the sun was almost down and skyline did little to light the apartment, obscuring Shaw’s already not great view of the bruising around Root’s shoulder.

“What? This extra damage is from when I pulled you onto that roof, the least I could do is make sure you’re not crippled from it,” Her voice here more gruff as she spoke, clearly not wanting to talk about it, “Why does it matter? You should be grateful –” Shaw applied more pressure to her shoulder blade than necessary causing Root tried to repress a flinch, and Shaw huffed, “Does this place not have power; would it have killed you to have turned on some lights??”

Root just moved her forearm out of Shaw’s grasp gently. When Shaw looked at her quizzically, Root just stared her right in the eye and clapped her hands lightly twice, and the living room lights all sprang to life.

Shaw just blinked once slowly, almost having laughed at the absurdity of it. Of all the things... She couldn’t help the small twitch at the corner of her mouth and was certain Root noticed. The tension in the room was quickly dispelled.

“…Not as terrible a place as you thought?”

Shaw just shook her head slightly and continued to fight the small smile that threatened to break free as she returned to examining Root’s shoulder, lifting her arm and slowly, very slowly testing the range of motion.

“No. Any designer that thought clap on lights were a better design choice than a breakfast bar ought to go bankrupt,”

Root couldn’t help the small bubble of laughter that rose in her chest. This was starting to feel like it had _before_ , when they were starting to get more than a little friendly in their interactions, when it was becoming really questionable whether they were keeping each other around for just sex and occasional free medical assistance. (Back before everything had gone to hell in a handbasket).

Her laughter was cut short though; once Shaw tried to raise her arm above chest high and she couldn’t suppress the small yelp from the sharp pain. The look on Shaw’s face had fallen back to a more serious one.

“You’ve got a separated shoulder. You’re shoulder blade and collar bone have been separated, though it’s hard to tell given your high pain threshold if the damn ligaments have been ruptured or just severely stretched. Normally this sort of injury result from a fall on the shoulder that pops the AC out of place, but due to the already weakened tissue in your shoulder from that rough dislocation in Mexico, when I pulled you over that ledge it at the very least stretched the ligaments.”

She then reached for the sling and began helping Root get in on her arm.

“How’s that?”

“It's fine,”

Shaw reached to her left, picking up the med-kit and placing it on her lap before beginning to rifle through its contents.

“You really ought to get it x-rayed to know the fully extent of the damage, and you’re going to have to wear that sling for at least four weeks –”

“Sameen, you know I can’t take –” Shaw looked up at her unconvinced. Serious.

“You and I both know that more than half of the threats you’ve been chasing down have been of your own choice that you investigated, not assignments of necessity by the Machine. Including that stint on the roof and this attempted trip across the Pacific. So don’t give me that crap.”

Root really wanted to know Shaw had figured that out, but Shaw wasn’t about to spill. Wasn't about to tell her that on her way here she had stared down a CCTV camera in Detroit and threatened the Machine itself if it didn’t stop sending Root on suicide missions like that had just happened in New York without giving her any backup, and learned quite a bit more than she expected.

“Here. You need to take two of these,” Shaw said, handing a small amber pill bottle over to Root before standing. Root just watched as she walked over to the kitchenette and filled a glass of water before coming back to the couch. After setting the glass on the coffee table, she removed the coat and sweater from the couch, pulled the blanket off the back of it, tossing it in Root’s lap and sitting on her left.

Shaw grabbed for the remote but was stopped by Root’s lips on hers. It only lasted a few moments, but when they separated they held steady with a few inches between them, quiet.

"Thanks, Sam." Root whispered.

“I’ll give you a pass because pain meds make you loopy,” Shaw finally mumbled half-heartedly, voice a little hoarse. Root just bit the inside of her lip, leaning back slowly and settling into the couch. Both of them ignoring that Root had yet to even take the pills. After she snagged the remote she continued, “Maybe if this place has cable, it won’t be that bad after all.”


End file.
